


Mamma Vicino!

by Carnivalgirl24



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ABBA, Affectionate Drunk Seung-gil, Alternative Universe - Mamma Mia, Balding Victor, Beach Scenes, Fluff, M/M, Mamma Mia! - Freeform, Middle-aged Victuuri, Multi, Musical References, Musicals, Past Mpreg, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, VictUuri, Yurio is Yuuri's son, alternative universe, musical AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carnivalgirl24/pseuds/Carnivalgirl24
Summary: Mamma Mia! AU. Yurio, only son of retired figure skater Yuuri Katsuki, is getting married. He realises the time has come to find the father he's never known. Through a bit of snooping he discovers that he has not one but three possible fathers. Determined to find out who it is, he invites all three of them to his wedding. What could go wrong?





	1. I Have A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> The last two addresses written in Russian are for Georgi, in Moscow, and Victor, in St Petersburg. Please let me know if they are formatted wrong!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yurio dreams of finding his father.

‘“Victor is the one, I know he is. I’ve never felt like this before. After the competition we went out to celebrate with everyone, but we couldn't keep our eyes off each other. As soon as I finished my beer he took me back to his hotel room and…" AAARGH!'

Yurio threw the diary as hard as he could. Lutz, with hockey player reflexes, grabbed it, flicked through a few pages, and read.

‘“All this time Victor has been telling me he loves me, but now he’s announced he’s going back to St. Petersburg to compete in the Russian Nationals. I’m never going to see him again.”’

‘Poor Yuuri,’ Loop sighed.

‘So Yurio, this guy Victor is your father?’ Axel asked.

Yurio glared at the floor. ‘It gets worse.’

Lutz rolled onto her back, holding the diary out in front of her, an unnervingly excited smile on her face. ‘December 10th. What a night. Christophe came by to do some pole with me at the studio. Though I’m still obsessed with Victor, Chris is so sexy and so strong. I didn’t realise we were so good together. One thing led to another and…dot dot dot!’

‘Christophe!’ The triplets shared identical loud gasps of amazement. Yurio waved his hands frantically at them.

‘Shut up! My dad’ll hear you. He doesn’t know I’m doing this. Swear on your lives you’ll keep it secret.’

‘There’s more!’ Lutz said, flicking through the pages. She sighed romantically. ‘“December 20th. GEORGI turned up out of the blue. I told him about Victor, but he hasn’t seen him at all, not even briefly. He told me about how much he missed Anya when she dumped him, he was so sweet and understanding, I couldn't help myself, and…”’

‘DOT DOT DOT!’ Axel and Loop finished, almost squealing.

Yurio gagged. If he had known that finding his father would involve learning so much about his dad’s sex life, he would never have started. However. He was now closer to knowing than he had ever been in his life.

His dad, Yuuri Katsuki, had always said his father had been long gone by the time he found out he was pregnant, and their relationship (if it could be called that) had ended in such a way that he’d decided to raise Yurio alone rather than try and get his father involved. For years Yurio had accepted that he would never know any more than that, and treasured the peaceful routine he had with his dad in their small town community. Life was deep pink summer sunsets, the silhouette of the castle on the horizon, the homely smell of hot steam. It was practising at the rink, helping his grandparents out with the onsen, and, when he had time, fooling around at the beach with the triplets. They’d grown up best friends by default - most of Yuuri and Yuko’s generation had left to make their lives elsewhere, so other teenagers were few and far between.

Then Minako-sensei had taken on a student from Kazakhstan for the summer, and Yurio’s life had changed overnight.

Now he was twenty years old and getting married, and the whole world was calling him away from Hasetsu, and he knew, with dizzying certainty, that he couldn’t hope to begin his future without understanding his past. He had to know who his father was, even if his dad didn't want him to.

He’d waited for his dad to go out of town, then snuck into his bedroom. In a dusty corner of the old family wardrobe he’d landed on the diary, and read it through in one sitting. With intense disgust and reluctance, he had done the math. He was born in August, nine months after Victor and the hotel room, nine months after Christophe and the pole dancing, and nine months after Georgi and the onsen.

He'd never expected there would be three of them, but it was just a matter of tripling the plan. He'd tracked down the towns they lived in and their home rinks, and written three cards, all with the same message.

_My son is getting married on the 1st of August in Hasetsu, and you are kindly invited to attend. You can stay at Yu-Topia Hastesu. It would be nice to catch up. I hope the years have been good to you, and that you haven’t forgotten me, because I haven’t forgotten you._

And, a night just weeks before the wedding, he had snuck away to the postbox furthest from Ice Castle, the onsen, and anywhere else he might be seen by someone who knew his dad, and mailed them out.

‘If you see the wonder, of a fairytale…’

_Christophe Giacometti, Patinoire des Vernets, Genève, Suisse_

‘You can take the future…’

_Георгий Попович, ВТБ Ледовый дворец, Москва́, Россия_

‘…even if you fail.’

_Виктор Никифоров, Ледовый Дворец, Санкт-Петербу́рг, Россия_

 


	2. Money, Money, Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor, Georgi and Chris head to Hasetsu.  
> Yurio conceals an important secret from Otabek.  
> Yuuri welcomes Phichit to Yu-topia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the slow update! I will try to be faster in future, I have just had a busy few weeks. 
> 
> A couple of language notes - I have little experience in Russian or Japanese so please feel free to correct me if they are wrong. 
> 
> ‘Yobannye passatizhi!’ - according to a Buzzfeed article about Russian swearwords, used to express negative surprise, like 'Jesus Christ!'. I couldn't find any other English sources for it, but I liked its apparent translation, 'fucking pliers'
> 
> 'Yokatta' - a Japanese interjection meaning (equivalent rather than literal) 'I'm glad'

Victor locked up his office at quarter to three. It had been a long time since he had finished working so early, but this was the only way to get to Hasetsu at a courteous time of day. With a wedding at the onsen, the Katsukis probably wanted all the guests in and settled as fast as possible.

He took a quick look over his emails on his phone. He was as dedicated a journalist as he had been a figure skater, and he only had one job deliberately left undone, a short piece for L’Équipe about Russia’s up-and-coming junior skaters. He flagged it. Writing on the beach was one of his favourite things, and writing at the spring might be even better. He hadn’t written anything at all in the old days there, even though, out of all the beautiful places he’d been, it had been the place that taught him why beauty actually mattered.

He’d left a lot of time to get to the airport, and yet when he got downstairs to wait for his taxi he realised his heart was pounding. He didn’t even know what he was nervous about. He was only a guest at the onsen, not a groom, and not a lovesick old ice skater.

How could Yuuri have a child, a child old enough to get married? Had it really been so long since that year?

He caught his reflection in the taxi’s window and pulled his hat further over his wide exposed forehead. Yes, it really had.

-

Georgi was browsing Sheremetyevo Airport’s sport fashion store. His designs had only been allotted a small display. But at least it meant more people were coming to see his creations and understand the story he was trying to tell with them. He moved his hand over the sleeve of a skating top. It was perfect: attractive, well-tailored, durable against a hundred falls and scrapes. He couldn’t be happier with it, and yet, today, he felt nothing for it.

Most of the time, he could look at the life he had now and decide, without making anything of it, that he had everything he had ever needed and wanted. He couldn’t admit this to anyone else, but ever since he was a child, he’d measured the quality of a year by the time in it he’d spent crying, and by that standard, the past twenty years had been worthy of gold.

It was just this letter that had made him suddenly introspective. A past he thought no one remembered had now been unearthed in days-old handwriting. He hadn’t known Yuuri Katsuki all that well, apart from that one night, and what was that after twenty years? And Yuuri’s son didn’t know him at all.

Even so, he was on his way.

-

Chris held out his arms to the sun, admiring the deep tan that had already developed on them after a week in Kyushu. Though now that he was in his forties, they’d come to have a moderate tan even when he went home to the Alps. He was starting to look like an old wayfarer, though a sexy and toned wayfarer, of course.

Since his skating career ended, he’d lived in a few places around the world and let each one guide him like a new dance partner, let them tell him their stories and make love to him. Wedding invitations were a great opportunity to let yourself be dragged somewhere unanticipated. The fact he didn’t know either of the grooms didn’t matter. Yuuri Katsuki, irresistible Yuuri Katsuki, was holding out a hand to him from across decades of time and miles of mountains and oceans.

Where are you leading me, Yuuri? Chris asked the open sea, smiling to himself.

-

Yuuri Katsuki was getting into the family pick-up truck to fetch Uncle Phichit from the harbour. Judging by the fact he was still wearing the jeans he'd worn to paint over the mould on bathroom five's ceiling that morning, he still had no idea three of his ex-lovers were on their way to him.

'Poor Yuuri,' Lutz said, watching him from the window as Axel arranged her hair. 'I can't look at him the same way.'

'Remember what Minako-sensei said? He was so beautiful when he was young. It’s so sad.’ Loop said from the corner, where she was experimenting with some hot curling tongs.

Yurio, not sure whether to defend his dad or not, frowned. 'We need to stop talking about it, OK? No one else knows.'

'But Yurio! Your actual father might be on his way to Hasetsu right now!' Axel protested. 

'Do you think you'll know when you see him?' Loop asked.

Yurio tugged at his own hair, taking it down after putting it up for about the fiftieth time.

'Yeah. I’ll know.’

As a child he'd had a natural curiosity about his appearance that had steadily grown into an analysis. Over time, he'd built an inventory of all the characteristics he had that weren’t directly from Yuuri. His long toes, his attached earlobes, his fast metabolism, and, top of the list, his blond hair.

Once upon a time, it had been so blond it was almost white, and so thin he could still remember the exact touch of his dad's fingers on his scalp. It had taken years of growing and cutting back to get it to what it was now; a darker, golden blond, thick and shiny as a warrior’s, a weapon of the Ice Tiger of Japan. Now, he wondered if he'd feel the same way about it after he met the man who gave it to him. 

The light changed, and he looked up to see Otabek behind him in the mirror. Otabek gave him a thumbs up. 

'Wha- Beka! What are you doing here?’

‘Sorry,’ Otabek said with a soft smile. ‘Am I seeing something I’m not allowed to?’

‘We’re just rehearsing our hairstyles for tomorrow,’ Axel said, gesturing to Lutz’s hair with her hand. ‘Yurio hasn't made up his mind.’

Yurio stood up and leant against Otabek, who looked down at him in a pretence of scrutinising his hair. ‘Well,’ he said , ‘I genuinely don’t mind how you wear it. You’ll look great to me whatever you do.’

‘If you had your way,’ Yurio said, slipping his arm around Otabek’s waist, ‘we wouldn't even be doing all this. We’d have eloped on the bike and then had beer on the beach to celebrate.’

Otabek laughed. In his shorts and thin button-up shirt, he still looked nothing like the traditional groom he was meant to become tomorrow. ‘It was just an idea I had at the time, that’s all. I do like this.’ He moved his hands in a circle, to include Yurio’s robes hanging in the wardrobe, the various beauty products, ribbons and stray flowers on the floor. ‘It’s been really nice bringing all the family together.’

‘Oh, you have no idea!’ Loop exclaimed in Japanese.

‘I’m sorry, what was that?’ Otabek said. He was still intermediate in the language.

‘Ignore her,’ Yurio said quickly. ‘She’s just talking nonsense.’

The triplets tightened their lips in a sudden vow of silence.

‘Alright,’ Otabek said awkwardly, and looked back down at Yurio. ‘I was just gonna say, Guang Hong and Leo and the lads aren’t showing up until later, so if you want to go out for a while, get some lunch…’

Despite his casual tone, Yurio could hear the plea in Otabek’s voice. With just over a day to go, the pressure in the onsen was becoming unbearable. You couldn’t move without being asked to take a chair out with you.

‘I can’t, I…said I would help with the…’

‘OK,’ Otabek interrupted. ‘No worries.’

He left after that, and Yurio felt restless and irritated with guilt. He wanted to run out and tell Otabek everything rather than spend another moment lying to him. But Otabek, while good at being silent, was also good at being…good, and would probably tell Yurio’s dad. And if his dad knew that the three potential fathers of his child were on their way to him…Yurio had no idea what would happen then.

-

‘Your timetable says 9am! It’s still 8:59!’

The captain of the little ferry to Hasetsu waved at Victor as it departed out of reach. If Victor didn’t know any better, he could swear there was a hint of smugness in it.

‘ _Yobannye passatizhi_!’ he said aloud to himself.

‘My sentiments exactly,’ the breathless man behind him said in the same language.

‘Is it my phone or something? The timetable specifically says nine…’ Victor then remembered he was no longer in Russia, and turned around in astonishment.

‘You speak - Gosha!’

‘Vitya?’ The exhausted look on Georgi’s face totally vanished, and he smiled. They shared an intense bear hug. 

'My God, what are you doing here?’

‘Yuuri, Yuuri Katsuki invited me to his son’s wedding.’

‘Oh yeah, me too,’ Georgi said. Even though he was in front of an old friend and in the place he loved most in the world, Victor suddenly felt a twinge of sadness.

‘I suppose he’s invited all the old gang, then.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Georgi said. ‘Though I don't know how we’ll get there now. I’m totally lost in this country.’

Victor sighed. 'I’ve revised some Japanese. Shall we go and find a taxi?’

Georgi was about to reply, when he heard the beep of a car horn and looked up to see a bright royal blue coupé slowing down by the jetty.

The driver's window wound down and Christophe Giacommetti half threw himself out of the door. He whistled.

'Look what the tide washed in!'

'Chris!' Victor ran straight towards him, his little suitcase bouncing easily over the old wooden planks. Georgi lagged behind a little, clutching his business holdall. 

‘Konnichiwa! My dear competitors, can I offer you a ride?’

'Are you going to Hasetsu?' Georgi asked him.

'Yeah, I got a wedding invitation!’ Chris opened his glove compartment and pulled out a letter with the same paper and handwriting as the one in Victor's pocket. Again Victor felt a twinge of helplessness that didn't belong in this scenario, like he’d forgotten his lines.

Still he made it first to the front seat, leant across to Chris and kissed his stubbled cheek. ‘Thanks,’ he said, adding the same charm he’d had when they really were competitors. Though he no longer had a fringe to shake out.

‘It’s been too long, Vitya,’ Chris said, returning a smile that crinkled the edges of his green eyes.

‘It was just like this when we were kids,’ Georgi said, getting into the backseat, half annoyed and half affectionate. ‘He always got to sit in the front with Yakov.’

‘Not when he was still married to Lilia, Gosha! Then we were their brat children in the back.’

Chris laughed lowly. ‘You, Vitya, a brat child? Why is that so… _easy_ to believe?’

The sky was so light in the summer sun that the sea hardly appeared blue; it was a white, shining path that guided them the long way to Hasetsu. Chris, though he’d never spent much time in Japan, was somehow totally at ease with their road signs, and with the calming cool of the air conditioner, Victor could imagine they were sailing.

‘I had not heard from Yuuri Katsuki in twenty years,’ Georgi said, during a quiet period. ‘The last time I saw him was just before my twenty-eighth birthday.’

‘Oh yeah, me neither,’ Chris replied. He leant back in the seat, admiring the view ahead of them. ‘That’s what’s so scary about retiring. So much disappears. But Vitya, you…’

‘I never heard from him either,’ Victor interrupted. Chris and Georgi turned away, and the subject ended there.

But you heard from me, Yuuri, Victor thought. Why did you never respond?

-

‘DETROIT SKATING CLUB REUNION! WHOOOO!’

Yuuri laughed loudly, glancing at the rows of trees Phichit seemed to be performing to. ‘Hasetsu won’t know what hit it.’

‘Are there any men coming? You know…former skaters, hotel proprietors…whatever else people do in Hasetsu…’

‘What, are you looking for a husband yourself?’

‘Oh! Oh, please!’ Phichit leaned an elbow on his side of the truck and mimed hurling. ‘Even if I wanted one - which I don’t - I’m on tour nine months of the year. I was talking about you!’

Yuuri would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't been focused on the road. ‘If you say so.’

‘What I am asking,’ Phichit said slowly, ‘is if the best dancing partner I’ve ever had will be available for me.’ He paused. ‘That’s you, Yuuri.’

‘Unless a total disaster happens…’ Yuuri thought of the range of total disasters possible, including the decrepit old truck he was driving, which shook every time they went over a dip in the road. ‘I promise I’ll be yours the whole night.’

Phichit leaned over to put on the radio, and turned it up when he heard it was pop music.

‘Some role models we are for Yurio and Otabek!’ Yuuri shouted over it. ‘A pair of middle-aged lone wolves!’

‘Awwooooo!’ Phichit howled to the trees.

-

Otabek helped with getting the luggage upstairs to one of their largest rooms but he was very shy in front of Phichit and excused shortly afterwards. Phichit stumbled over and collapsed across the cushions on the floor.

‘Ugh…I need a minute…’ He rolled over onto his side, then started upright. ‘Yuuri, there's a...’

‘Oh. Sorry, I thought I'd nailed that floorboard, must have been another one. I'll fix it right away. About the wifi...when it stops working just…leave it a moment, maybe go on to data if you need to, and come back to it later. It usually doesn’t stop for more than five minutes.’

Yuuri gave Phichit a smile, then paced across the room to check the taps in the ensuite bathroom. ‘Oh, _yokatta_ , I thought this was the one with the…’

‘Yuuri,’ Phichit sat up, now unsure about taking an immediate nap. ‘Is everything…’

‘Nothing works in this onsen except for me! I have been working here for nineteen years and I have never had a day off!’

They both jumped as a picture fell to the floor. Yuuri sprang to put it back. He took a deep breath, then resumed a concentrated look, as if he’d just had a break. He sang to himself.

 ‘I work all night, I work all day, to pay the bills I have to pay…’

Phichit sighed. ‘Ain’t it sad?’


	3. Mamma Mia!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yurio meets his fathers. Yuuri is ambushed by Eros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I am hoping to have more spare time in the near future.

'But seriously, Yuuri,' Phichit said, one cold soda later. ‘If you are having troubles, I’d be happy to help you out, in any way I can.’

Yuuri inclined his head slightly. A blush crossed his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Phichit, thank you so much, but we'll be fine. We’ve just had to make a few budget adjustments to pay for the wedding. That's all.’

The conversation dropped. Yuuri looked down at his bottle of soda, a flagrant bribe from Phichit to stop him from going back to more work. He knew the realities that were probably going through Phichit’s mind. That it wasn't just the onsen, it was the whole town. That even Hasetsu Castle was starting to look a little tired. That Yuuri’s father's illness a few years back had burned through a lot of the family savings. And that the money old Lilia left for Yurio, which had once seemed so much, was now almost completely gone.

But today was a good day among these many hard ones, and they made a silent agreement not to discuss it any more.

‘How long are the kids going travelling for after the wedding?’

‘Two weeks!’ This was perfect. Yurio was a subject Yuuri could talk about for hours. ‘Two weeks in Australia.’ He leaned forward, anticipating Phichit’s reaction. ‘I swear, I did tell them they could stay for longer, but they don’t want to! If it were me…well, when I was twenty, I was living in Detroit! I was terrified out of my mind, obviously, but I did it.’

Phichit just laughed, looking out at the gate in front of the resort. ‘Kids always surprise their parents.’

‘They want to do all these things with Yu-Topia. They’ve made an Instagram, a Twitter, a Facebook, and all these other things that I’m going to have to update while they’re away…’ He smiled. ‘And try not to let the followers realise I’m the usual writer’s dad.’

‘Surely that’s not all you’re going to do while they’re away. Surely, Yuuri.’

Phichit said this in a slow tone of voice with a slight smirk on his lips. Yuuri groaned and threw himself dramatically against the back of his chair.

‘Yuuri! You should close up! Take some time for yourself, go out!’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Yuuri gestured to his overweight figure, his paint-covered jeans. ‘I don't know who’d curl up and die first, me or everyone else!’

Phichit massaged the curves of his soda bottle with one hand. ‘Come on! How many times is an opportunity like this going to come along? Hit up Fukuoka. Meet someone. Have a good time….oh!’ The soda bottle went flying into his lap. ‘A better time than that.’

Yuuri shook his head resolutely. ‘I said when Yurio was born that I would give all that up.’ That vow had come out of deep emotional and physical pain, so it had not been his proudest moment, but nowadays it gave him a surge of self-esteem. Picking up his own soda bottle, he launched it like a dart into a nearby garbage can.

‘And you know what? It’s the best decision I ever made.’

-

Yurio was darting around the resort, hoping to ambush his potential fathers before they got to his dad, while staying out of sight of the rest of his family, who would probably force him to arrange some flowers or hold a ladder. And he was no good for that, because when he looked down at his hands, he saw that they were shaking.

He’d never been so nervous in his life, and he was an amateur figure skater. He couldn't even figure out how the first few seconds with his fathers would go, let alone the rest. He didn't know what time they would arrive; for all he knew they were delayed at the airport and they’d either wait for tomorrow or arrive late tonight and scare the hell out of his family. Even worse, they might not have come after all, they might have been caught up by some other demand back home, maybe from their jobs, or their kids…

This had all been a huge mistake. He threw himself down on the outside steps, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

‘Excuse me?’

Yurio looked up. Three middle-aged white men were stood in front of him. They were holding suitcases and documents in their hands, printed passes. They’d arrived together. He hadn't thought of that.

He scrambled to his feet. ‘May I help you?’

‘We’re here for the wedding,’ said one of them, the same man who had spoken first. ‘I’m Christophe Giacometti.’

He had a confident, amiable face, and that with his open shirt and cargo shorts made him look like a middle-aged version of the cool young American guys who taught English at Yurio’s school. The only thing that suggested he had a more serious side was his large green eyes, which were as intense, Yurio couldn't help thinking, as a cat’s.

‘Georgi Popovich.’

This guy didn't seem as comfortable as Chris, and that might have been down to the fact he was dressed entirely in black and purple in 33 degree heat. Apart from being unseasonable, though, the outfit was awesome. Yurio especially liked the butterflies spread across the shoulders of his shirt. His own fashion experimentation was mostly limited to photos saved on his phone, and he was pretty sure he had one like that, or he would get one.

‘Victor Nikiforov,’ the last man said, taking off his sunglasses.

So, this was the five-time world champion. Yurio could have guessed it even if he hadn't known. Victor Nikiforov had the look of an ageing movie star; the wrinkles around his eyes and smile showed charm and dignity just as if he'd contoured them to look like that. Maybe he had. He was fashionable too, though in a more middle-aged business guy way with chinos and a striped T-shirt.

'You are expecting us?' he said.

Like Chris he looked relaxed, cool, and friendly enough, and yet for some reason, as soon as he heard his voice, Yurio was stunned into silence. Maybe this world champion had been on ice for so long, it was part of his being. 

'Uh….yeah.’ He clasped his shaking hands together in front of him, a mannerism he got from his dad.

'You must be Yurio,' Chris said. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’

'Yeah.’ Figuring he ought to make more conversation, he added, 'Though my real name is Yuuri, after my dad. Yurio is just a nickname my aunt gave me to tell us apart. It…stuck.'

'Do you know, we have the same name in Russia. Just with a shorter 'u' sound. _Yury_.' Victor said softly. 

Yurio had known that, of course, but all the words he might have said in response went completely out of his head. ‘Uh…’

'Do you mind if we see our rooms before we see your dad?' Georgi said, dropping his arms in exhaustion. ‘We’ve travelled a long way, and it’s so hot out here.’

‘Of course!’ Yurio answered a little too quickly. Maintaining eye contact as well as he could, he slid his phone out of his pocket with one hand and checked the time. It was almost eleven-thirty. His dad was probably preparing for lunch. ‘But…come this way.’

He led them around the back of the onsen, past the springs. He snuck glances back at them as they went, as if all the secrets he'd been waiting to know for so long would start flowing from them like a song the moment he turned his back. He could see nothing so far. Victor Nikiforov was looking with an overtly fond smile at the springs; Georgi Popovich, ill-at-ease, was keeping his eyes on the ground, and Christophe Giacometti caught the eye of a guy by the waterfall and winked at him.

After going backwards, forwards and between plant pots and rock gardens, Yurio brought them to a large room on the ground floor. The water pressure in the sink and the shower was barely more than a drip, but the problem was bigger than they could afford to fix, and so Yuuri had avoided opening the room lately outside of emergencies. Yurio had only had to borrow a spare futon and it was the perfect hideaway. At least, as long as they could deal with sharing it.

'Can I see my room?' Georgi asked.

'I think this is our room.' Christophe said. ‘It’s been a while since I slept hostel-style.' 

He dropped his backpack at the end of one of the futons and checked the view out of the window. It wasn't much, just the sakura trees, which were all leaf at this time of year, but still he paused there for a while.

‘Thank you, Yurio,' he said at last. 'This is perfect. I think now I'll stroll over and see your dad.'

'That's probably a good idea. It'd be rude not to at least...say hello,' Georgi agreed. He was laying out a suit on his own bed and straightening out the wrinkles, though he seemed to have much more on his mind.

'Wait for me, I'm not seeing Yuuri looking like this.' Victor said, brushing a hand over his unshaven chin.

Yurio backed up towards the doors so quickly one of his sandals came off. 'Wait! My dad…he doesn't know you're here. I'm the one who sent the invitations.'

'What?!’ said Christophe and Georgi.

Yurio babbled. ‘He's always talking about you guys and your careers and your medals and all those good times skating and, and stuff, and so I thought…I’ll invite you to my wedding! Also, the shower in here doesn't work, you’ll have to use the ones by the onsen.’

‘What?!’ said Victor.

He felt their eyes on him, severe and slightly condemning. This has got to be a world record, he thought. I've known my father for five minutes and I'm already in trouble with him.

'Look, Yurio,' Victor said, in just the kind of tone used to break bad news to a young heart. 'I don't think your dad wants a surprise visit from me. The last time I saw him...he told me never to come back.’

There was no time to react to this. Yurio swallowed a hot surge of embarrassment and fear and scoffed awkwardly. 'It's been twenty years, right? A whole lifetime. I just wanted…’ He tensed his stomach as if he could physically hold the feelings down. ‘…to do something for my dad.’

Georgi folded his trousers back up. ‘I can see this is important to you, Yurio. But I think maybe we should go back to the car and look for somewhere else to stay.’

‘I don't,’ Chris said, looking around the room again.

‘Chris -’

‘It’s an adventure, Georgi, it’s good for you.’

Georgi was suddenly overcome with a coughing fit.

If they left, the plan and everything it meant went with them. Yurio had to make his best move now. He spread his arms out and gripped either side of the door.

‘Alright. Leave if you want. Just tell me something. You don't know me. You don't know my fiancé. Out of everyone here, you only know my dad, and you haven't seen him for decades. And yet! One letter and you come all the way to Japan to see him. Why?’

He saw them look at each other. They didn't seem so old and wise now.

‘He was your competitor, right? So what’s really brought you back here? What do you want to win?’

No, they weren't looking at each other; Georgi and Chris were looking at Victor. A long second of silence went by.

‘…You talk like a coach,’ Victor said. There was an expression in his eyes Yurio couldn't identify.

‘You would know,’ he responded simply, folding his arms.

Just then he heard the sound of wheels rolling past the door. It was the trolley the barman used to move crates of drinks between the bar and the cellar.

‘This is all just for me, right, Seung-Gil?’ a voice called. Yurio froze.

‘That’s Phichit-san. I have to leave.’ He made his voice sharp. ‘Don’t go anywhere, and don't tell my dad I invited you.’ He glared. ‘Please.’

‘No problem,’ said Chris.

‘I promise,’ said Victor.

‘If everyone else is in, I’m in,’ said Georgi.

Yurio retrieved his other shoe and slipped out of the door before Phichit and Seung-Gil could return. As he left he heard them - his fathers, as he thought of them now - talking.

‘Phichit is here too?’  
‘Wonder who else was invited.’  
‘Remember that JJ guy?’

-

There was three times as much food in the kitchen as normal, in preparation for the wedding. The communal staff lunch was more like an eating contest, everyone fitting as much as they could in their mouths. Yuuri got out while he could with a glass of cold water, and took a walk down one of the corridors. The windows were covered by blinds that, from a certain angle, gave a decent view of the springs directly outside. It was just as he walked that he saw it, out of the corner of his eye. The figure that had haunted his dreams for twenty-one years.

‘V-’ He cried aloud before he could stop himself, mouthing the rest of the word. ‘…Victor?!’

He took a step closer, squinting, and the view was suddenly blocked by another bather, who he could see from this distance had a particularly curvaceous…

‘Chris!’

A voice, English with a Russian accent. ‘I’m putting my towel over here, I don't want it getting in the water.’

‘Georgi!’

Yuuri dropped his water to the floor. He threw himself against the wall as if the blind would reach out and pull him in. A rush of heat went through his body, his heart suddenly straining against his chest like a passenger against the seatbelt in a car braking suddenly.

He stared out at the windows in front of him, panting, trying to force the air back in his lungs. I'm just tired, he thought. So tired, so stressed about giving Yurio the perfect wedding, I've started thinking about his father.

Yuuri took off his glasses, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Yes, that was all it could be. He knew by now that he had the kind of mind that was never satisfied with the reality of situations. It always had to invent some twists and turns. And now it just doing it again. When he looked back, he knew that all he would see was the regular guests.

He replaced his glasses and retraced his steps towards the blind, eyes almost closed, then opened them again when he was at the right spot. And there he saw them: Chris's firm, strokeable abs, curved as he bared his chest to the sun; Georgi's broad shoulders, drops of water and sweat emphasising their strength; and, as he dared himself to watch a second longer, he saw Victor's ice blue eyes turned towards him.

And that wasn't all he could see.  
  
Mamma Mia!

Yuuri yelped and leapt back. He smoothed his hands down himself, gasped for air, words and thoughts. He sang, or spluttered.

'I was cheated by you, and I think you know when,’

He paced down the corridor, thought for half a second about getting a broom for that glass, but his internal monologue consumed him entirely.

‘So I made up my mind, it must come to an end,’

Unable to resist, he ran back to look again. His knees weakened, and he smoothed a hand down the blind, something inside him burning to be closer.

‘Look at me now, will I ever learn? I don't know how…but I suddenly lose control. There's a fire within my soul…’

His body jerked back. Eros, Eros back with a vengeance after all this time, flowed to his very fingertips.

‘Just one look and I can hear a bell ring. One more look and I forget everything.’

‘Hooohhh whoa,’ he sighed.

‘Mamma mia, here I go again,  
My my, how can I resist you?  
Mamma mia, does it show again,  
My my, just how much I've missed you?’

He turned from the kitchen and paced away as fast as he could, belting to the ceiling.

‘Yes, I've been broken-hearted!  
Blue since the day we parted,  
Why, why did I ever let you go?  
Mamma mia, now I really know,  
My my, I should not have let you go.’

He paused. Thought about what had happened. Took in a gulp of air.

‘PHICHIT!' Yuuri screamed, running as fast as he could. ‘PHICHIIIIT!!'


	4. Chiquitita/Dancing Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit is there for Yuuri.

Phichit raced in the direction of Yuuri’s screaming.

‘Yuuri?! What’s…’

He got there just in time to see a blur of white T-shirt and painted jeans disappear behind a bathroom door. He heard Yuuri slam the bolt across clumsily, then his breathy sobs.

‘Alright, Yuuri, I’m coming! Just a moment!’

A long, shuddering sigh came in response. Phichit didn't pause to think what had happened; when it came to Yuuri, he was prepared to respond to anything. The first thing Yuuri would need, before perhaps a cold beer, was eye contact.

He borrowed an empty crate from Seung-Gil and placed it in front of the bathroom door. He’d done this so many times in Detroit, it was almost nostalgic. This let him see over the door, just about. Yuuri hadn't taken off his glasses, and he looked up at Phichit with misted-up lenses and tears streaming down his cheeks.

‘Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong?’

Yuuri grimaced in sad frustration, and wiped one of his eyes awkwardly with two fingers. Phichit slumped. He’d seen a lot of tears in his life, including plenty of his own, but nothing filled his heart and mind with pain like seeing Yuuri cry. Whatever had happened in the short time they’d been separated, it had taken a splinter off that glass heart.

‘I have never seen such sorrow…in your eyes…’

‘And the wedding is tomorrow,’ Yuuri finished, and got up and unlocked the door. Phichit was so preoccupied in watching him he forgot to jump down, and fell with a bump to the ground. Yuuri, startled, knelt to help him up, and Phichit took the opportunity to grab his arm firmly.

‘Chiquitita, tell me the truth...’

He held Yuuri’s arm like a lead dancer, and escorted him upstairs to his own bedroom. Yuuri walked in a daze to his futon, collapsed to his knees, then flopped all the way down, not pausing to adjust for comfort.

Phichit sat beside him and combed his hands through his hair, smoothing it and arranging it. He hummed. It was another old practice from Detroit; just a way of letting him know he was still there, could and would be there for hours to come if he needed.

They stayed like that for some time, until Yuuri mumbled something.

‘What was that?’ Phichit said. ‘Could you…lift your head up?’

Yuuri leant up and took off his glasses. He rolled over to face Phichit. He suddenly looked older than his forty-five years, like he’d lived his life over again, or the same life without a chance to rest.

‘It’s his dad. Yurio’s dad.’

‘Victor?’ Phichit blurted out, then cringed. They hadn’t mentioned his name since the day Yurio was born. ‘Sorry.’

‘No. Well, yes, but also no.’

He fell silent, his expression incomprehensible. Phichit shuffled back slightly to let him turn around back onto his futon, but then he spoke again.

‘I don’t actually know if Victor is Yurio’s father. After he went back to Russia, I met up with Chris, and then with Georgi, and…things happened, and…it was around the same time, you know.’

Phichit’s jaw dropped. A split second later he composed himself, but still he felt a weakness go through him, as it always did when something reminded him that Yuuri, the person he knew best in the world, was still like a great rainforest, and there were pockets even he had never been able to reach.

‘You could have told me,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘I wouldn’t have -’

‘I was going to take it to my grave!’ Yuuri wailed. ‘It was stupid, it was so, so stupid, I just…I tried to tell myself that Victor was just a guy. That one day he’d be nobody at all, just a memory, just a story to tell when I talked about dating. I thought I’d meet more guys, love more guys, break my heart over and over again till it grew back scarred and tough. Like everyone’s heart is, in the end. That’s life, right? So I thought, OK, the rest of my life is here, better start living it. I wanted to feel something like I felt with Victor, so I could know he wasn't the only one who’d ever do that to me. I wasn’t thinking about anything else. And…you know the rest.’

‘To this day my Wikipedia page says I ruptured a ligament that summer,’ Phichit said, trying to lighten the mood.

‘Ciao-Ciao didn't realise that was my gross and swollen ankle in the photo,’ Yuuri said. Phichit laughed fondly, but Yuuri started to cry again.

‘I never thought anyone would have to know,’ he said. ‘Even my family thinks it’s Victor, Mari would have gone to Russia to find him if I’d let her. But now all the guys are here, right here at the onsen, and I don’t know how, or why. It’s like the world is torturing me!’ He paused, struggling for breath. ‘And if Yurio finds out, he’ll never forgive me.’

‘Yuuri, Yuuri,’ Phichit shuffled forward to attempt to hug him. ‘Yurio loves you more than anything.’

‘You don’t know what it was like raising him. When he was fifteen he called me “piggy” for a solid year,’ Yuuri turned away and pressed his hands firmly to his face, as if he could physically shove himself into unconsciousness. ‘I knew this would happen one day. I was better before I knew what Eros was.’

His effort at showing Yuuri concern and love had been excellent up to that point, but on hearing that, Phichit burst out into a loud, high-pitched laugh.

‘I’m sorry, am I talking to the real Yuuri Katsuki?’

There was a dusty chest in the corner of Yuuri’s room. Phichit, with an instinctive sense of what was inside, strode over opened the lid. He groped around what felt like photo frames, medals and blade guards, and then he felt the crystals under his fingers. Tugging at it as hard as he could without damaging it, he released the ‘Yuri on Ice’ jacket. It was wrinkled, but otherwise in perfect condition. He put it on, then reached out an arm to Yuuri in the ‘Yuri on Ice’ final pose. He sang, loudly and proudly.

‘You can dance! You can ji-ive! Having the time of your life!’

He jumped and twirled, at once a dancer, his long arms and legs imbued with music. Yuuri lowered his hands from his face and stared at him.

‘See that girl! Watch that scene! Diggin’ the dancing queen…’

‘Stop.’ Yuuri’s voice was cold. The music stopped.

‘I’m not a dancing queen. I’m not a dancing anything. So stop.’ He lay down and resumed moaning into the futon.

Phichit didn’t need to think too hard to figure out what to do next. He rooted more around the room to collect what he needed. Yuuri, either lost in his own mind or decidedly pissed off, or both, didn’t move, even when he could hear the scissors.

‘What do you see from there?’

Yuuri started, and looked up to see Phichit in his gold haori, hiding his face behind a fan he’d made from the wedding wrapping paper.

‘Paper fan. Royal outfit. Your Majesty.’

Yuuri’s eyes went wide and his jaw went rigid, like he was trying extremely hard not to smile at the sound of that violin. Phichit danced over to him, offering his hands.

‘Once, you left your country and travelled, around the world!’

He smiled intensely at Yuuri, and watched as his best friend’s face held firm, then trembled, then blossomed into a slightly embarrassed smile.

‘We’ll fall in love with your harmony…’

Phichit helped Yuuri to his feet, and Yuuri twirled in something like an attitude spin, instantly twenty again.

‘And come to love,’ they sang together, their voices shaking with laughter. ‘And hold on more!’

‘Shall we skate?’

They ran out of the room. Phichit slid down the bannister, while Yuuri followed in an easy dance run.

‘You can stand like a feather on the ice,’ Phichit sang, turning out his leg in an arabesque.

‘Let yourself go with music,’ Yuuri sang, crossing his hands over his heart.

Mari, who was passing with a tray of drinks, watched them with confusion and scepticism before she too broke out an awkward laugh and lifted her tray above her head, turning on one foot.

‘Spinning round like a dice!’

They danced through the restaurant, waving and blowing kisses at the surprised and excited diners.

‘Shall we skate?’ they sang in harmony, getting up to follow them.

Yuuri pushed open the doors, lifting his face to the sun.

‘Your dreams will come true if you believe…’

‘Woo!’ called the gardeners, passing with armfuls of flowers. Yuuri and Phichit each took a bouquet and cast flowers as they went. Their feet danced across the pavement just as smoothly if it were ice.

‘Like a magical train we can catch!’

‘Shall we skate with me…’

‘Listen to the music…’

‘The music!’ called the hotel guests.

They span and glided to their knees at the gate, throwing the flowers behind them wedding fashion.

‘Shall we skate with me, let’s skate out with us!’ They chorused to the sky, and the guests burst into raucous cheers and laughter just as if they’d seen a real ice performance.

Yuuri laughed too; he couldn’t stop laughing. He fanned his face with both hands and rolled on to his back.

‘I can’t believe you made me do that in this heat!’

Phichit, grinning like a hero, took out his phone. ‘Time we got on the ice. We’re late for our rehearsal.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know 'Shall We Skate?' isn't in 'Mamma Mia', but I thought it made a great fit. You just know Yuuri watched 'The King and the Skater' a lot of times with Phichit back in the day.


	5. Our Last Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yurio bonds with his potential fathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the slow update! I have no excuse, I can only offer a long and busy new chapter!

Yurio ran down the road so hard and fast he wasn’t sure what would break first, his sandals or the soles of his feet. The sun was white-hot, and the twinkles of light coming off the sea forced him to squint his eyes almost closed. They, his fathers, had slipped away from him while his aunt roped him into helping her with the lunch service. All three of them, like teenagers lying to their parents.

He tried to keep his focus on running, but the question of what he’d do if they had really left Hasetsu distracted him at every other step. I’ve seen them, he said to himself, at least I’ve seen them, at least I can say I’ve been in the same room as my father, maybe that’s just gonna have to be good enough for the rest of my life…

‘FUUUUCK,’ he screamed as he reached the beach, jogging to a stop and almost folding completely, his hands clutching his burning knees.

Victor Nikiforov turned and lowered his fancy sunglasses.

‘Hi there, Yurio.’

It was hard for Yurio not to openly sigh in relief, especially when he was already gulping in air. ‘You said you wouldn’t go anywhere!’

‘We just wanted to pass the time,’ Chris called, as he stepped out of the sea towards them. He was shirtless, and his shorts clung to his thighs. Yurio tried not to look.

‘And stay off your family’s radar,’ Georgi added. He had set up a portable barbecue on a rock, and was tending to some fish laid across it. It was going beautifully even with so little breeze, and the fish was starting to sizzle and give off an intense, flavoursome smell. Yurio’s stomach suddenly felt so empty he imagined it wilting like clingfilm.

‘Join us,’ Georgi said, gesturing to a bag of groceries by his feet. ‘There’s a lot to go around.’

Yurio did not say yes to this, as he was still annoyed, but he didn’t say no either. He got his breath back and strolled down towards the sea to cool his stinging feet.

‘Did you see him? My dad?’

‘He saw us,’ Chris said. ‘We were all at the onsen, he was inside. He looked at us for maybe a second or two, and his face was like,’ he reeled back his head and dropped his jaw in a expression of total shock. ‘Then he ran away.’

Victor laughed loudly at this as if he hadn’t just been there himself, then sighed and turned around to look back at the sea.

‘It was just like the day I first came here. I’d been travelling for hours and I decided to have a rest in the onsen before I saw your dad. I… don’t think I made the best impression.’

Yurio had read about the incident in his dad’s diary. His dad had not needed many words to express what he thought, in fact just four. ‘Victor Nikiforov is here’, repeated sixty-five times, followed by ‘Naked.’

Thankfully, this Victor Nikiforov was still fully clothed for the time being. He drew his arms around himself and stared out at the coastline behind Yurio. It looked roughly the same for miles if you didn’t know it well - the sand a deep golden brown even in the searing sunlight, the waves hitting it almost in a straight line. Unassuming and reassuring as the rest of Hasetsu.

‘You know, when I was coaching your dad, we used to come here on our days off,’ he said. ‘We would walk until…well, until we felt like turning around. The beach would go on forever, and so would the time. As if you could go through a lifetime of experiences in a single day. I had never known anything like it in my life…and I never have since.’

His voice was soft, almost sad. Yurio, despite himself, was drawn in. There was no sound but the food cooking on the barbecue, the waves moving in and out, and then, perfectly in time with them both, the music.

‘I can still recall, our last summer, I still see it all…’

‘ _À table_!’ Georgi called. It sounded like French or something, but all Yurio needed to understand was that he was dishing out the fish onto paper plates.

The food portions were generous beyond Yurio’s ideal, which was on the high side, since he was a Katsuki. As well as the first course of fish, they’d bought squid, shrimp, and various vegetables to grill afterwards, with some kimchi, bibimbap and garlic dip to go on the side. It was all cooked to perfection, including the crunchy, almost-burnt grilled parts that Yurio liked to hold in his mouth and savour for long seconds. The sun’s heat lost its ferocity, and became just hot enough for him to feel it caress his skin.

‘Eat! You’re a figure skater, you need your strength,’ one or another of them would insist every time Yurio put down his plate. It got the point where he made a game of inching it towards the ground, daring them to put food on it in time, and they all laughed together for the first time.

‘I knew I would turn into my babushka when I got old,’ Georgi said to Victor with a grin.

‘What’s a babushka?’ Yurio asked. Knowing now that there was a 67% chance that he was part Russian, he hung onto every word of the language, as if it might awaken something hidden in his bones that would tell him who he was.

‘A Russian grandmother,’ Victor said. ‘They show their love for you with their food.’

‘OK.’ It was familiar, but not in the way he’d hoped. ‘My grandmother is like that, too.’

‘Oh! Does still make her pork katsudon?’ Chris asked.

‘Yeah, all the time,’ Yurio said casually, and all three of his dads suddenly fell into a reverential silence, as if recalling a former lover. He couldn’t help wondering if Baa-san’s cooking was as much to blame for his paternity situation as his dad’s erotic dance skills.

‘She knows what a champion needs,’ Victor said. ‘She got your dad to the Grand Prix Final.’ He paused. ‘Have you been in any competitions?’

‘I’m really an amateur,’ Yurio said, reluctant to keep up the pretence of being a figure skater in front of people who actually were. ‘I do it when I have time. My real job is helping my dad with the onsen.’

‘I’d like to watch your skating,’ Chris said, looking straight into his eyes. The other two nodded emphatically. Yurio’s heart hammered in his chest; it was like they’d asked to look at his soul. All at once they appeared as they had in the pictures he’d seen of their skating days; Chris, innocent green eyes paired with moves smooth and sensuous as melted chocolate; Georgi, face and body perfectly describing the abyss of heartbreak; and Victor, lilac fairy, Prince Charming, and multiple legends in between.

Yurio looked deep into his mind for something to say, but nothing came for a few long seconds.

‘Uh…my dad said the rink was reserved for some dance thing today, and I’m busy after that, so...’ He let out an awkward, humourless laugh at calling his wedding and honeymoon ‘busy’.

‘Show us on the sand,’ Victor said, putting down his plate and standing up. ‘What’s your favourite move?’

There were few surfaces in the world that had less in common with ice than sand, but Yurio found himself getting up all the same. He walked over to the flattest part of the beach he could find, and Chris and Victor followed him while Georgi cleared up the food.

After almost falling a couple of times, he did an imitation of his best half-Bielmann spin.

‘I’m usually better than that.’

‘You’re very flexible,’ Victor said, impressed. ‘You should take care of that spine.’

Yurio exhaled, staring down at his legs. ‘My problem is jumps,’ he said. ‘I want to do a quad flip, it was my dad’s signature move, but I can't get the takeoff right.’

Victor laughed, pressing a hand to his wide forehead. ‘That was my signature move. I’ll talk you through it.’

Chris laughed and turned around towards the sea. ‘I’m gonna watch this from the water, I’m roasting.’

Victor talked Yurio through the stages of a quad flip, demonstrating where he could, though he deliberately held his movements constrained, particularly when he twisted around. His feet left tracks in the sand which were wet and messy and nowhere near as beautiful as the ones blades would leave, but Yurio still felt a cold thrill go through him whenever he trod in them.

‘You’re ambitious, trying to do quads as an amateur,’ Victor told him. ‘Your dad was nervous about quads, and he was a professional. But he made them his own in the end. He…they were so beautiful you could weep.’

He closed his eyes, as if he were in pain, or maybe imagining himself somewhere else.

‘I was so happy we had met. It was the age of no regret. Oh, yes.’

Yurio felt the sand creep over the sides of his feet, cold and grainy. He had the sense the lesson was over. Victor said something vague about how they should keep drinking water in the heat, and turned to go back to the picnic.

‘I mean it, by the way,’ he said. ‘About your spine. Don’t take it for granted.’

Yurio straightened up immediately. Knowing Victor had dumped his dad to go back to skating, he hadn’t been able to resist checking Wikipedia for the end of the story. According to the article, Victor’s career had come to a slow and painful end in 2017, when he got two herniated discs that took over a season to heal. Experts speculated that it had been building up for years.

But Yurio’s lesson was not over, after all. Chris really had been watching the whole time while he swam. As he got out, shaking his hair and brushing the sand off his calves, he looked at Yurio’s face as if he was trying to work it out.

 _Do you recognise something?_ Yurio wanted to ask him, but just stared back.

‘You look so furious when you work,’ he said. ‘Is that your aesthetic?’

Yurio frowned. ‘Does it matter?’

‘To the audience, it does. I trained my face as hard anything else. I used to flirt with the cameras.’

Brushing sand over Victor’s tracks, he stepped into something resembling a corkscrew spin on the sand, though what Yurio noticed most was the way he gazed into an imaginary crowd, commanding their attention. Then he stopped, and struck a pose, hands drawing attention to his face.

Yurio could never have worked out what exactly Chris was doing with his eyes and lips, but the effect was such that he would not have been surprised if the sand and sea had whipped itself into a human shape and thrown itself at Chris’s feet.

‘How do you do that? How do you like…make your eyes do that?’

Chris turned, his face returned to its resting expression, which, rather than a frown like Yurio’s or a total neutrality like Otabek’s, was a small, knowing smile.

‘My eyes do that themselves. I used to imagine the ice was my lover. Sometimes he called to me, sometimes he teased me, but he was mine, and I was his.’

 _Eros_. The two syllables holding such intimacy, such secrecy. Yurio had ended up skipping most of the pages about that in his dad’s diary. There were things a son didn’t need to know.

‘I can’t do that,’ Yurio said. ‘Change my expressions. In English class we had to do roleplays with scripts, and I didn’t know how to be a character at all.’ To this day he remembered the annoyed looks on his teacher and classmates’ faces, like he was doing it on purpose.

‘Close your eyes,’ Chris commanded him. Yurio did so, hoping his mouth conveyed his confusion. ‘There. Now, you’re getting married tomorrow, aren’t you? It’ll be a day to remember. Picture your feet touching the floor as you wake up. The brush going through your hair. The last cup of tea you drink as a single man. And you’re going to a shrine, right? Will it be hot in there, or cool? You’ve got your outfit picked out - look down at it on you. It’s beautiful. Now last of all…think of your fiancé.’

Otabek. He really was going to marry Otabek tomorrow. In that instant, Yurio felt the precious isolation of meditation - the external world and its fears and strains faded out, with only the content of his heart left to contemplate.

‘If you could see yourself, Yurio. You have a dancer’s face. It wasn’t made for fury,’ Chris told him. His voice seemed like part of the dream as well. When Yurio opened his eyes, the sunlight made his eyes ache. He put a hand over them and blinked out the water that had filled them.

‘…Victor said my dad was beautiful when he was a skater,’ he said. ‘Did you think so?’

‘Did I?’ Chris answered instantly. ‘I’d have to be blind not to.’

They wandered back over to the barbecue, where Georgi was sunbathing on the rocks and Victor was writing something in a notebook. Chris retrieved a folded page from his bag. It was almost torn at the seams, but the paper itself still had the shine of a magazine. When Chris unfolded it, Yurio saw his dad’s face, eyes narrowed in an expression that could only be described, once again, as Eros. He turned away.

‘I shouldn’t have asked,’ he said.

Chris laughed, tossing the page aside. ‘Those crazy years, that was the time of the flower power…’

‘The 2010s, really?’

‘The 2010s were about connection.’

It was Georgi who spoke. He lifted his sunglasses, leaving white suncream fingerprints on the frames. He was still the most middle-aged dad-like of them all, but since he’d changed out of his black jeans he did seem a lot more at ease.

‘We had a lot of fun, of course,’ he said. ‘But you also had the constant feeling something else was coming for you. Underneath…we had a fear of flying. Of growing old. A fear of slowly dying. We took a chance…like we were dancing our last dance.’

The words seemed to hold that fear; there was, as Victor had said, a lifetime of experience in them.

 _Living for a day_  
Worries far away  
Our last summer  
We could laugh and play

Yurio looked out towards the sea. He had no idea how much time had passed, as he’d left his phone at the onsen, but the sun was lower in the sky. Soon he could start to count the hours until the wedding.

‘Yurio?’ Georgi asked, ‘What do you wear, when you skate?’

‘Whatever I have that I can spin in, and that isn’t messed up. Beka lets me borrow his stuff a lot.’ He shrugged. ‘Why?’

Georgi tapped something into his wide smartphone, then handed it to Yurio. When he glanced down at the screen, squinting against the glare, he saw the most expansive selection of men’s skating clothes he’d ever beheld. They had more than three colours available, they coordinated, and they actually looked freaking good, unlike the Hasetsu hand-me-downs, which went back to the 20th century, or looked like they did. Yurio glanced down to see how much the items were, and realised he couldn’t tell, as the prices were in roubles.

‘Pick out what you want,’ Georgi said. ‘Call it your wedding present. You can pick something for your fiancé, too. Or we could ask him, of course. I did actually get you something else - I didn’t, you know, turn up empty handed, I just thought -’

‘That’s very kind, but you don’t have to,’ Yurio said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He was inclined to refuse as a matter of courtesy, but on this occasion, he really felt like he should.

‘It’s no trouble. You should have something good to wear.’

Yurio stared at the clothes. He couldn’t understand the Russian but the arrows and numbers told him there were multiple pages on the site. He would never have looked at something like this to daydream, let alone to shop.

‘Please, I’m honoured, but -’ He held out the phone to Georgi.

‘I insist,’ Georgi said, pushing it back into his hands. ‘I don’t want anything in return. The cost isn’t a problem; I design these clothes, I can have as many of them as I want. Most of the time I don’t get to see where they go. It would honour me,’ He paused, for effect, ‘to give them to Yuuri Katsuki’s son. And his fiancé.’

‘Well…thank you,’ Yurio said, instinctively bowing. He cringed inwardly, thinking perhaps it would look weird to Georgi, but the man bowed slightly in return.

‘You’re welcome.’

Yurio watched him hold onto a tentative smile. The lines around Georgi’s mouth and eyes made his features look timid, like he needed someone to bring his authentic self out again.

_How dull it seems. Are you the hero of my dreams?_

 


	6. Lay All Your Love On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek is jealous.

‘YURIOOOO! Yurio!’

‘Shoot! That’s my fiancé.’

What the hell was the time? Yurio realised at once that he had no idea how long he’d been out. The sun had lowered in the sky and the food had dried on their plastic plates. His skin felt warm and tight with sun exposure. He turned to his fathers.

‘I gotta go. You guys had better come tomorrow.’

‘We’ll be there!’ Chris called.

‘That’s a promise,’ Georgi added.

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Victor said.

Yurio got to his feet and limped across the rocks to reach his sandals, then climbed with strides as wide as his skater’s legs could manage to Otabek, who was waiting at the end of the road to the beach.

Otabek’s jaw was set, his shoulders were hunched as if trying to reach down to his folded arms, and his eyes did not even flicker towards Yurio when he approached. The only part of him that wasn’t held solid in nervous tension was his hair, which stuck up all over the place like it did in the mornings or when he’d been running his hands through it all day. Yurio had not seen him look so overtly worried since the time the bike had had to go in for repairs, and nobody had had the combination of fluent Japanese and technical knowledge needed to tell the garage what was wrong with it.

‘Uh, so…sorry,’ Yurio said.

There was a long, awkward silent, then Otabek turned his head towards him, slow and steely as a bird of prey. ‘That’s it? You’re sorry?’

‘Yeah, I’m sorry, I should have been around. Is everything OK at home?’

‘Is everything OK…’ Otabek was repeating Yurio’s words like he was learning them for an exam, so scarily slowly that they felt like the bridge to something. They were.

‘You do realise we’re getting married tomorrow?’ he said. ‘That is to say, almost twenty-four hours from now? People have been arriving all afternoon, and a million things still need to be done. Like, I wanted to go out for lunch but I couldn’t because the ants came back in the banquet room and Mari needed me to get rid of them. Then I needed to set up the sound system for the reception, then clean the windows…’

‘Beka -’ Yurio tried to interrupt him, but he’d built up a monologue.

‘…Guang Hong, Mila and Leo have had to help clean as well, when they came here for a party. Even your grandpa is helping, when he needs to rest for tomorrow…’

‘Beka -’

‘…and you’re at the beach like, who cares? Nobody’s seen you since lunch, you didn't answer your phone, I was about to go to the rink and find your dad -’

‘Huh? My dad’s at the rink?’

This did stop Otabek talking. He was red-faced already, so Yurio couldn't tell if he was blushing, but he placed a weary hand to his forehead.

‘Forget I said that.’

Normally, in fact, in almost every instance until now, Yurio’s own temper leapt up at the appearance of others, like a dog passing another in the street. Otabek, in contrast, was guided in all confrontations by a cool grace that Old Lilia would have been proud of, that usually cut straight through Yurio’s rages to a clear and reassuring solution. Now Yurio saw Otabek angry, and at him, guilt pinned him down and he wanted it all to end as quickly as possible. ‘I said I’m sorry. I should have helped you. I’ve just been around the beach. What did you think I was doing?’

Otabek paused for a long time before he spoke. ‘The things that went through my head. I’ve been on a knife edge since this whole thing started. I always think that someone - that something’s gonna…change your mind.’

Now this was something even newer. Yurio had to bite down a smirk of amusement as the picture came together and music started in the distance. His fiancé was…

‘I wasn’t jealous before we met. Now every man that I see is a potential threat.’

Otabek took a sweeping glance towards the empty expanse of the sea ahead of them, as if he expected a man to emerge from it. He held out a hand to Yurio and their bodies moved into dance as easily as conversation. Hands tight, they pulled in then pushed apart, turning back to back.

‘And I’m possessive, it isn’t nice. You’ve heard me saying that music was my only vice.’

They released again, hands joining, then moving up their arms into an embrace. Yurio leant away, not taking his eyes off Otabek even as his neck and chest arced towards the sun. Otabek took his hand again, and supporting Yurio with his free hand guided him in towards his chest. His voice deepened.

‘But now it isn’t true. Now everything is new. And all I’ve learned, has overturned, I beg of you…’

Yurio stepped between Otabek’s legs, almost falling into him but with a control that gave the lead to him. He walked them, danced them towards the wall of the cliff until Otabek was up against it. Yurio was close enough now for them to touch foreheads, and his voice was as close as a kiss.

‘Don’t go wasting your emotion. Lay all your love on me.’

He leapt away, and at last something like happiness reappeared in Otabek’s face. They moved in harmony, the ground and the walls adding power to their movements even as the ice did.

‘It was like shooting a sitting duck,’ Yurio sank to his knees at Otabek’s feet and moved his hands to his waist and climbed upwards with quick and tender strokes. ‘A little small talk, a smile and baby, I was stuck.’

‘I still don’t know what you’ve done with me,’ Otabek countered, smiling. ‘A twenty-something should never fall so easily.’

Yurio rolled his eyes and walked around Otabek, a hand still on his waist, and Otabek followed and took the momentum to lift him off his feet.

‘I feel a kind of fear…when I don’t have you near. Unsatisfied, I skip my pride, I beg you, dear…’

Yurio put his fingers through that mussed-up undercut, and leaned in to finally let Otabek have what he was begging for, when something gripped his arms and sides and lifted him away. He thought at first it was some awful kind of cramp, when that awful cramp sang aloud,

‘Don’t go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me!’

‘Put me down, you hag! You oaf!’

Mila and Emil exchanged grins across Yurio’s thrashing body, and proceeded with him on their shoulders towards the beach, where he saw, upside down but unmistakeable, Guang Hong, Leo and Kenjirou. They were starting a camp fire, and there was a cooler waiting, undoubtedly full of beer.

‘Don’t go sharing your devotion, lay all your love on me!’

‘Hey, guys! When I said we needed to throw him out for my stag do, I didn’t mean literally,’ Otabek said, back to his usual ironic detachment.

Yurio stopped thrashing in resignation, and also a big sense of relief. As much as Otabek’s jealousy gave him a satisfying little thrill he’d remember for their future marriage, he already had more than enough problems. In an entire afternoon with his fathers he still hadn't figured out which of them was the one, and now they’d disappeared again, without leaving even a footprint.

And on top of all that, the triplets were taking him out tonight.

 


	7. Super Trouper/Gimme Gimme Gimme/Voulez-Vous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yurio finally finds out who his father is. Then he finds out again. And again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long and intense chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> (For the record, I have not yet seen Mamma Mia 2. I don't know if I'd ever get around to another AU for it. Then again, who's to say there isn't space for Cher in the YOI verse?)

After a day of suffering through the kind of stress that would come only once in his lifetime, Yurio had almost forgotten he was also meant to be experiencing once-in-a-lifetime fun. He needed to work himself up to it mentally. He decided would go home and change out of his beach shorts, which still had sand clinging to them, have a shower, then maybe have a soda and watch a little TV with his grandparents. But no sooner had he walked away from Otabek and the others, than he was blindsided by one of the triplets slamming him in a body check. He flailed his arms and legs in front of him to save himself from falling straight onto the ground, but another triplet, who he now recognised as Lutz, pitched in front of him and held him steady by the elbows.

‘Ehh!’ he blurted, staring one of his three best friends in the face. ‘What’s-’

Axel or Loop threw a blindfold over his eyes from behind. ‘Come on, groom-to-be! We’re going for a drive!’

He’d had a lot of adventures with the triplets, several of which had ended with a fast hustle into Yuuko and Takeshi’s old station wagon, but doing it blindfolded was new.

‘Where are we going, a bar?’ he asked the darkness. ‘I’m gonna need to get cash.’

He wanted a quiet evening watching the sun go down, sharing a few beers and talking about old times, nothing more. His dad had been totally on board with a bachelor party - he was probably where Yurio first heard of the concept. But no one in the family hadn’t mentioned it for months, and Yurio had quietly accepted that they needed the time and money for other things.

But as soon as he focused on where he was, he could tell they were going away from town. He could not see any flashes of streetlights through the blindfold, and he could hear no other cars on the road. At last when he heard the familiar, almost nostalgic sound of tires on gravel, he realised exactly where they were.

‘We’re at Ice Castle?’

‘Surprise!’ The girls called in unison.

He followed the triplets inside, and he heard the last bars of ‘Lay All Your Love on Me’ playing the bottom of the stairs.

‘We made you a playlist,’ Axel said affectionately. ‘Happy wedding eve!’

The Ice Castle cafe and viewing area, scene of so many after-skating sodas and homework sessions, had been cleared of chairs and furniture to create a dancefloor. Disco lights in red, blue and yellow that Yurio knew were older than he was danced across the walls. Seung-gil, the bartender from the onsen, was serving cocktails and soft drinks in plastic cups and sharing-size pitchers with straws, and on the table were platters of karaage from his favourite roadside diner, in front of them a little card reading ‘Congratulations Yuri and Otabek! From your friends at Chiyodamachi Highway’.

‘On the house, they said,’ Takeshi said, looking on at it all with pride. ‘We’ve been there so often after wins.’

Yurio felt his face heat up, and it took all his effort not to break out into a huge, cheesy smile. Everywhere he looked there was an old school friend, one of the neighbours, someone from the hockey team, one of the onsen regulars. He didn’t notice that his dad was not there until he heard Phichit-san’s voice booming out of the speakers.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way to the rinkside!’

Once everyone was around the rink, the lights went in the stands went down. All that could be seen were spotlights on the rink in apple green, turquoise and gold.

He heard his dad’s voice, slightly shaky as he forced himself to project it.

‘Presenting…For one night, and one night only…’

‘Because Yuuri’s knees will give way!’ Phichit interrupted.

‘Speak for yourself, you old geezer! The best college skating club the United States ever knew…’

‘WHAAA!’ Yurio started like he was on the front of a bobsleigh.

‘DETROIT SKATING CLUB!’

Everyone in the party screamed with delight, but cut it short at some invisible signal for silence. A couple more seconds went by.

‘Kaa-san!’ One of the triplets called in gentle impatience, and Yuuko, wherever she was, turned on the music.

The spotlights, huge as supertroupers, beamed down into the dark onto the centre of the rink, and there as if by magic were his dad and Phichit-san. Yurio could tell just from the way his dad stood, long limbs relaxed, head held high, that just in this moment he was truly happy.

_You only live once  
You only live once_

The music wasn’t the kind of thing they had skated to in their professional days. It was pure pop, and they danced with free, wild movements, almost taunting the spotlights to keep up with them.

_Waiting for the light_  
_There's not a thing I hear tonight_  
_But even then a butterfly's_  
_Shining so bright, so don't you cry_

They took turns leading each other, joining in twirls and breaking apart, one showing off to the other and the audience in turns. And yet even as they seemed to play on the ice they were spellbinding. Their costumes were a metallic blue-green with gold shoulder pads that sparkled under the lights, and contrasted against the ice they reminded Yurio of moonlight on the sea.

_When I get hurt I refuse_  
_To let my light go out and lose_  
_'Cos you showed me how to try_  
_To live on and let my light go and shine_

Perhaps it was the expertise Phichit-san had brought from his ice shows, but for both of them their skating had an intangible maturity, a knowing kind of grace to every movement. He had seen it in Minako-sensei and Old Lilia, because he’d known it was there, but he’d never looked for it in his dad.

_You're amazing even I_  
_Can't believe how bright you shine_  
_When I'm lost in my own fright_  
_Everybody knows you’re right_

_Looking at you all I see is_  
_Beauty shining right at me_  
_When your sadness grows inside_  
_We believe you'll come out strong_

His dad moved away from Phichit for a second, peering into the audience but not seeing them. He was missing his glasses, of course, and Yurio was about to call out to him when out of nowhere he launched into a flawless double Salchow. The sweep of the blade as he landed was as smooth and clear as a note from a tuned violin.

_You only live once  
You only live once_

The music swelled, he danced back into Phichit-san’s arms, and then - just like that - it was all over.

Everyone at the party broke out in screams and applause, but Yurio was speechless. He stared at his hands - he’d been gripping the sides so hard his fingers ached, and when he blinked, he noticed there were tears in his eyes. His dad smiled kindly at him, and he smiled back, swallowing the lump in his throat.

As the applause faded, Phichit, arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, yelled to someone in the back.

‘Sorry, this is a private family party! Invitation only!’

Yurio glanced behind, and saw all three of his fathers slipping away towards the doors. When he looked back, his dad and Phichit were also gone.

-

‘I am cursed. I am actually cursed.’ Yuuri said between breaths, peeling his costume from himself like plastic wrap as they dressed in the rink’s changing rooms. ‘What are they doing here? Haunting me?’

Phichit grimaced in the mirror, only slightly so to keep his face still for his eyeliner.

‘It’s OK. I’ll talk to Seung-gil,’ he said, with the air of a nurse recommending a period of bed rest. ‘We’ll get all three of them good and wasted, and I’ll take them fishing tomorrow.’

‘Fishing?!’ Yuuri said, finally freeing his leggings from his ankles and tipping backwards with the effort. ‘Since when do you know anything about fishing?’

Phichit fastened his gold waistcoat, and looked up at Yuuri with wide, innocent eyes.

‘Well, Yuuri, do you have another idea for something to do with three men?’

Yuuri hurled a towel at him so hard it could have broken a window.

-

Victor had not left the party, not completely. Yurio spotted him from the window, standing alone in the car park, nursing a vodka and ice he must have got from Seung-gil. He looked overheated for the first time all day - his entire body had reddened, and his silver hair lay flat on his scalp, emphasising how little of it there was left. Yurio escaped the building and strolled over to him with just as much ease as if they’d intended to meet, and they exchanged smiles in the same way. It was mostly dark by this point, but the last blue-grey smudges of daytime sky could be seen on the horizon.

‘Those moves you did earlier really were excellent, Yurio,’ Victor said. ‘Have you considered going professional?’

‘I’m too old,’ Yurio said. ‘And I’m not good enough, not really.’

‘When I started coaching your father,’ Victor said, ‘he was three years older than you, and seriously out of shape.’ He cast a cursory glance at Yurio’s own figure. In sharp contrast to his dad, he was the featherweight type; his appearance belied his strength, like the gladiators who wore no armour. ‘But within a year, he was a silver medallist.’ Victor sighed and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. ‘And I’m not saying that was all down to me. He was - he is incredibly talented. And he’s passed that on to you.’

‘We can’t afford coaching fees,’ Yurio said, with a shrug.

‘I never said anything to your father about fees,’ Victor said. When Yurio immediately scoffed, he added, ‘Not just because I was in love with him. I’d have done it even if he never looked at me twice. I didn’t do it for money. It was an honour to coach him. And I’d be honoured to coach you. If you’re ready.’

Yurio struggled for another argument. ‘Aren’t you a journalist now?’

‘Yes. But freelance. I could do it from anywhere.’

Out here in the silence with a man who had until today been a total stranger, Yurio had to stare at the ground to remind himself he was still on Planet Earth. There were hundreds if not thousands of skaters out there who would sell their souls for a chance like this. As a teenager, he’d tried to get scholarships, funding, places at summer training…he’d reached for every helping hand there was and watched it shoo him away. And yet… maybe it was the spirit of the evening, or the beers he’d had mellowing him out, but Yurio couldn’t summon any resentment towards his situation, not right now. At his age, his father had been pole-dancing three times a week to pay his rent, never mind coaching and college tuition. Yurio would never know that life. He owed his dad everything.

‘I appreciate it, but really, I don’t want a coach. I’m happy where I am.’

Yurio watched Victor’s expression out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to break out a patronising smile, or maybe - and he was fully conscious that part of him wanted this - for his jaw to sink in disappointment. Instead, Victor just looked confused.

‘If you’re not looking for coaching, and Yuuri doesn’t want me here, then what am I doing here?’

-

_Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight, take me through the darkness ‘til the break of the day…_

Hockey players the world over knew how to have a good time. Now that the show was over, Yuuko’s triplets and their friends had formed a jumping, dancing, screaming mass in the middle of the dance floor, belting pop lyrics to the ceiling. Phichit couldn’t see Yurio, but he assumed he was somewhere between them, or had snuck off for some air. Two strawberry daiquiris down, Phichit himself was still feeling too old for it all, and hung back by the drinks table.

‘What do you have that’ll get a man good and wasted?’ he said to Seung-gil, the bartender from Yu-topia, who up to this point in the evening had barely said a word to anyone. He, too, looked like he felt too old for it all, though he couldn’t have been much older than the kids on the dancefloor.  
‘I’m the only guy for miles who can make a decent margarita,’ he said.  
‘I’ll give it a try,’ Phichit said. ‘But bear in mind, I’ve had them in Mexico.’  
‘Sure,’ Seung-gil said in a non-committal tone, pouring a measure of tequila with barely a glance downwards.  
He handed Phichit the finished drink, and Phichit sipped it. He felt it at once - the scarlet warmth of the tequila at the back of his throat, the perfect crisp hint of lime teasing his tastebuds, the pleasurable sting of salt crystals on his lips. At once he was back at that quiet beach cafe in Cancún, toes nudging the golden sand, gazing out at the October sunset without a care in the world. He let out a sigh of appreciation, and Seung-gil’s aloof eyes suddenly lit up with innocent joy.

 _Oh, he’s a puppy. Am I in the mood to make mistakes?_ Phichit wondered. He noticed the margarita had already shrunk considerably. _No_ , he decided, _but I could be if I’m not careful_.

Speaking of mistakes, he still needed to take care of those three men for Yuuri. Glancing around, he did not see the flash of a disco light bouncing off a shiny white forehead, which suggested Victor Nikiforov had dragged his heartbreaker ass back to the onsen. Georgi Popovich was in a corner with the chef who had delivered the platters of fried chicken, a tall forty-something woman with a cute bob and twinkling eyes. If at forty-eight he was still the same boy who slipped into love like a novice skater on blunt blades, Phichit’s job was done for him. So it was just Chris he needed to find.

Right on cue, the song that was playing finished and the Swiss silver medallist emerged from the centre of the mass of dancers, breathless and wiping his forehead with both hands. The image made Phichit laugh out loud, and he was still laughing when Chris loped to the drinks table.

‘Water, please,’ he said, grimly. Seung-gil’s face returned to its austere blank, and Phichit couldn’t help but wonder if he was pouting a little as he thrust the glass of water at Chris.  
‘Can’t keep up, Giacometti?’ Phichit teased.  
‘Ach,’ Chris complained, lifting the shoulder of his shirt back up where it had been dragged down. ‘Were we like that at their age?’  
‘Nah,’ Phichit said. ‘We were worse.’  
This made Chris laugh, and he pulled up a chair and joined him.  
‘I never told you,’ he said, ‘I saw your ice show in Florida. It was the show of the decade, in my opinion.’  
‘Thank you very much,’ Phichit smiled in response. ‘I’m still very proud of it. What were you doing in Florida?’  
‘Oh, an ad with Gillette. I modelled for a few years after I retired, lived like a monk and saved my money, and I’ve been travelling ever since.’  
‘Sounds like the good life.’  
‘It is.’ Chris turned to Seung-gil and ordered in Japanese. ‘The same again for my friend, please.’ A fresh margarita was in front of Phichit before he could take the last sip of his first.

-

Yurio couldn’t let his vigilance go for a single second. People were practically lining up to buy him drinks, including Georgi Popovich, who had already bought him a lot today. Yurio asked for a Coke, nothing stronger.  
‘Probably for the best,’ Georgi said. ‘Happy Wedding Eve. Is this kind of party traditional in Japan?’  
‘Oh, no,’ Yurio said. ‘It’s an American thing, I think.’

Yuuko had opened the windows, but there was no fresh air was coming in. It was fully dark now, and the cafe was becoming indistinguishable from a regular club. Yurio looked around continuously just to orient himself, ground himself. He felt the floor thrum under his feet; it was cheap linoleum flooring that shook even when the music was at a normal volume, but the triplets and their friends were cranking it up a little more with each round of drinks.

‘It’s great that your family still has the onsen,’ Georgi said, almost shouting to be heard.  
‘Yeah!’  
‘Your old traditions!’ he added, switching to speak in fragments.  
‘Yeah! We wouldn’t have it if -’ Yurio had to take a gulp of air to continue. ‘If it wasn’t for -’ He breathed in again. ‘Old Lilia!’  
‘Yakov said Lilia’s money went to a student!’ Georgi said.

It might have been the beat of the drums, but Yurio could swear that the world had tilted on its axis.

‘How old are you?’ Georgi yelled.  
‘I’m twenty!’ Yurio bellowed.  
Georgi stared at him, mouthed something that might have been ‘I see’, or possibly, ‘Oh shit’, turned on his heel and walked rapidly from the room. Yurio followed him as quickly as the crowds would allow, out to the stairs in the main arena. The cold breeze around the rink hit him in the face like sea water.

‘Georgi…wait! Please!’

Georgi’s eyes were red, and the lines in his face looked deep in the cold white light.

‘Are you my father?’ Yurio asked, helplessly. His voice echoed in the cavernous hall.

Georgi paused. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think so.’

Yurio’s heart hummed in his throat. _At last_. He didn’t know whether to laugh or burst into tears. Georgi - his _father_ \- looked as if he was having the same internal battle.

‘I’ve been waiting for this all my life,’ Yurio said.  
‘Me, too,’ Georgi said, his voice cracking. ‘Is anyone giving you away tomorrow?’  
‘No,’ Yurio said. He couldn’t bring himself to add that this also wasn’t traditional in Japan.  
‘I will,’ Georgi said. Yurio didn’t know where he got the signal from - whether it was the slight openness of his arms or the soft look in his eyes, but they exchanged a tight Russian bear-hug.

-

‘To the ice,’ Chris said, lifting his glass, and Phichit nudged his drink against it. ‘You make me want to be back on it.’  
‘I can’t believe I’m the only one still on it,’ Phichit said. He’d meant his tone to come out jokey, like he was talking about the dancefloor, but both he and Chris heard the sadness in it. A moment passed between them; a silent mutual recognition that single forty-somethings often exchanged at weddings and wedding-related events. A conversational key change.

‘You never settled down?’ Chris asked.  
‘No. Almost, once.’ Kasem, the Victor to his Yuuri, in almost every way now. Phichit had not thought of him in days, which he had to consider progress. ‘But there was always something missing, you know? Waste of eight years of my life.’  
‘You can’t think of life that way,’ Chris said, reaching a hand out to touch Phichit’s arm. ‘Disappointment means you dared to dream. That alone is worth doing.’  
Phichit looked into Chris’s eyes. He had never forgotten their intense hazel green; in all these years he had never seen anything else like it. And there was heartfelt sincerity in them. Phichit’s scarred heart squeezed.  
‘Most of the time, like, 99% of the time, I’m OK with it, honestly,’ he said. ‘Just…when I look at Yurio, I wish I’d had kids. I just have my dancers.’  
‘Yeah,’ Chris said, glancing towards the hockey team. ‘My sister has kids. I spoil them rotten.’  
‘Louisa!’ Phichit exclaimed. ‘I remember her from PyeongChang. That photo of her wearing your medal, even though it came down to her waist. She looked so cute in her skating outfit.’  
‘Little butterfly,’ Chris said, clearly moved that Phichit remembered. ‘You know, people still recognise her from that photo, even though she’s twenty-two now -’  
A single beat, and something transformed in him. His shoulders tensed and his eyes lost focus.  
‘…She’s twenty-two?’ Phichit prompted.  
‘Excuse me.’ Chris swallowed. ‘I have to go.’

-

Back upstairs, the party was heating up. Yurio felt lighter on his feet than he had in his entire life. The lights above his head felt like signals from the heavens. He had a father: Georgi Popovich. He knew where he came from. He could enter the next step of his life as a whole man, all secrets, hang-ups, longings and dreams tied up and filed away. He was about to dance over to the bar and let someone buy him the most extravagant drink Seung-gil had in his arsenal when his vision was blocked by another Russian.  
‘Yurio!’ Victor’s eyes were wide, and he was shaking like a skater in the Kiss and Cry. ‘We need to talk.’  
Yurio nodded.  
‘How long have you known I’m your father?’  
_Oh_. The air went out of his lungs. His knees weakened. He ought to have known it could never be this easy.  
‘Not long at all! Listen, Victor!’ He coughed with the effort of shouting. ‘My dad doesn’t know that I know!’  
‘Your dad misses a lot of important things!’ Victor yelled back effortlessly. Apparently he had massive lungs inside his massive torso. ‘Who’s giving you away tomorrow?’  
‘Nobody!’ Yurio yelled, but before he could add ‘we don’t really do that in Japan’, Victor interjected.  
‘Wrong! I will give you away! You’re going up the aisle, and you’re going to be magnificent!’  
He grabbed Yurio in a one-armed hug that almost swept him off his feet. ‘My son! My own boy! I’m so proud of you!’

-

_People everywhere_  
_A sense of expectation hanging in the air_  
_Giving out a spark_  
_Across the room your eyes are glowing in the dark_

Yuuri Katsuki was wearing his oldest pair of glasses, and he was dressed like a middle-aged man at the beach in a sleeveless tourist T-shirt and mid-length cargo pants, yet still all the energy of the room converged towards him. A lot of new kids had joined the party now, and they spun and jived in loose cotton shorts and summer dresses like it was the last summer night of the world, and Phichit saw their cool and casual faces, anonymised by the dark, come alive with something between love and fannish enthusiasm every time Yuuri came near. He had first observed this effect as a freshman at college, and had never quite let go of the belief that he was blessed to be Yuuri’s best friend.

Based on that history, he could also tell it was going to be a rough night. Victor Nikiforov, certified Ridiculous Human Being, was trying to make his way to Yuuri, but got diverted at every turn by someone dancing into his path, or his flip-flops getting stuck to the floor. Yuuri barely spared him a glance as he made his own way around, dancing into anyone’s waiting arms like the belle of the ball. Yurio was back in the room too, and Phichit watched his pale head dart around the floor faster than anyone was dancing. Yurio struggled out from the crowd into a small space in the middle of the room for air, and scrunched his hands in his hair, a comfort mannerism he must have got from Yuuri.

Phichit’s brain, sluggish from alcohol, put the pieces together. Victor must have worked it all out. He’d talked to Yurio, who was understandably losing his poor young mind at the news, and now he wanted a showdown with Yuuri. Chris must have done the math as well - he was no doubt making his way to Yuuri too.

How in the name of katsudon was he, Phichit, ever gonna fix this?

Seung-gil slipped another margarita into his hand, and leaned to whisper into his ear. His voice was as delectably sweet and savoury as his cocktails.

‘On the house.’

-

_And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end  
Masters of the scene_

Someone grabbed Yurio’s arm, and he actually screamed aloud.  
‘Hey, hey, it’s me!’ Beka gave him a smile, but there was concern in the set of his jaw. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked, slipping his arms around Yurio casually and leaning in for a kiss.  
‘Yeah,’ Yurio said against his lips. ‘Sorry. You startled me, that’s all.’  
‘You look a bit pale. Go easy on the alcohol,’ he said, eyes crinkling with affection, then he turned and headed back towards his friends.

Yurio’s entire being was gripped in panic. He tried his dad’s technique of grounding himself in the moment - he could see Otabek ahead of him, Victor Nikiforov to his right, Georgi Popovich to his left, Phichit-san and Seung-gil in the corner, the triplets in his peripheral vision. He could hear people singing, and beat of the music, and the words of the music, and there was nothing else but the music. Everyone was moving into a circle together - he reached for someone’s arm, anyone’s, someone to anchor him to the present, but his brain couldn’t seem to engage his arm to move fast enough.

_Voulez-vous_  
_Take it now or leave it_  
_Now it’s all we get_  
_Nothing promised, no regret_

He turned his head at random and looked straight into the glare of a spotlight, and before his vision could clear he collided with yet another tall person. The force of his gaze was as powerful as if he’d physically pinned Yurio to the ground.

‘I’m your father!’ he blurted.  
‘CHRIS!’ Yurio wailed.  
‘So that’s why you invited me here!’ Chris was swaying, delirious with his discovery. ‘You wanted your papa to give you away! Well don’t worry! I’m here for you!’

 _Voulez-vous_  
_Make no big decisions_  
_You know what to do_  
_La question c’est voulez-vous?_

Three fathers. He had three fathers and all of them were certain he was their son. His dad was going to kill him. He’d taken his small loving family and ruined it. And he had to get married tomorrow. Every square of space in the room was so dense that he couldn’t seem to get enough damn air into his lungs to keep himself going. He strained with every brain cell to focus. What could he see? A blur of bodies joined together, passing flashes of colour from clothes, the lights spinning wildly…  
What could he hear?

 _Yakov said Lilia’s money went to a student._  
My son! My own boy!  
I’m your father!

Somebody screaming. Was it real or in his head?

What could he feel? Yet another hand around his arm, but this hand had familiar dry skin from hours of work, and long, tapered fingers with a tender grip.

‘Give him some space!’ came the voice of his dad. ‘Somebody get some water! You’re alright, Yurio, you’re OK…’


End file.
